


A Turning of the Tables

by serafina20



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/serafina20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kink meme fill requesting that Napoleon is the one to fly into a rage and Illya talks him down. (http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=242048#cmt242048)</p>
<p>A lapse on Napoleon's part leads to disaster.  He doesn't forgive himself easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Turning of the Tables

It had been a simple lapse of concentration. Hardly even a moment’s worth. A woman passed by wearing a bracelet that would have covered U.N.C.L.E’s entire operating budget for a year, not to mention the purchase of a fancy speedster both he and Gaby had their eye on. Napoleon had spent, perhaps, ten seconds considering it.

And in those ten seconds, Gaby had been taken.

“Explain again,” Illya said, voice flat and expressionless.

“I explained.” There was an edge to Napoleon’s voice, not just irritation. It was bordering on panic. Closing, caging in, because he had explained. He had explained twice, and now Gaby was gone, and he was doing nothing productive.

“That’s why I said ‘again.’” Illya was almost preternaturally calm.

“I did explain again. Peril, we can’t just sit here! Gaby is in danger, and you want to talk! What the hell is the matter with you?” He pulled his gun from beneath his coat. Checked the chamber before sliding it back into the holster. “You stay and talk. I’ll go find her.”

Illya caught him by the arm before he could storm out. “You said yourself you don’t know where she is. What will you do? Search the city until you find her?”

The nasty, choked off feeling was at his throat as he gritted out, “If that’s what it takes.”

“Tell me what happened. Everything. From beginning.”

“Goddamnit!” The choked feeling exploded. He couldn’t breathe, so he lashed out. 

His fist caught Illya across the cheek, but it wasn’t enough. He can’t see for the red and the failure and Illya’s calm, unaccusing eyes. Why wasn’t he more upset? What with everything he and Gaby had gone through, everything they felt for each other, how could he just sit there?

Napoleon roared in frustration and flipped the coffee table. It crashed into an end table, knocking the lamp onto the floor. It shattered, satisfyingly, but the haze didn’t lift. He went to the other end table and kicked. It flipped over, spilling Gaby’s tea cup, breaking it into a million tiny pieces.

Like a wild thing—like Illya—Napoleon dismantled the room. Every candy dish, every book, every mirror was smashed and torn and thrown about. It wasn’t until he slammed his fist against the balcony window that Illya intervened.

“Stop, Cowboy,” he said, wrapping his arms around Napoleon from the back and pulling him against his body. “Stop.”

“Let go of me!”

But, like the first time they struggled, Illya overpowered him. Within seconds, they were on the floor, Illya wrapped around Napoleon like an octopus. Legs wrapped around his legs, arms pinned. He couldn’t move.

“Illya…”

“No. Listen.” His breath was hot against Napoleon’s ear. It ruffled his hair as he spoke. “Our little chop shop girl is tough. Is strong. And she did not simply disappear into the ether. You saw something. You saw someone. Before we tear across the city like bulls, you will calm down and you will think. You will remember.”

The fading adrenaline made him shaky. He trembled as it faded, leaving him feeling shocky and empty. “I didn’t see anything. I was distracted.”

“No. You see everything.”

“I didn’t. Gaby and I separated when we got inside. She went to make contact with Isabel. I took a position across the room. She bumped into a man before she made it…”

“What did he look like?”

Napoleon tried to shake his head, but Illya still had him gripped tight. “I don’t… He wore an off the rack suit. Blue and mustard. Had a moustache. Mousy brown hair.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“I don’t…” He stopped and closed his eyes, a memory stirring. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes. He was there at the theater last night. In the lobby. He spoke to…” He opened his eyes. “Linville. Last night, he was one of Linville’s guards. Damn.”

“Then maybe it is time we pay a visit to Linville.”

Napoleon nodded, body going slack with relief. They stayed as they were for a long moment, Illya holding him tight as the shakes slowly left Napoleon’s body.

“I’m sorry, Peril. I should never have let my attention wander.”

Illya shook his head, loosening his hold as he did. “No, you should not. But, as I said, Gaby is strong. She will be fine.” He unwound himself from Napoleon and stood up. “It’s nice, I think. Not having to be on the sharp side of Waverly and Gaby’s tongue over room.” 

Napoleon stood up and surveyed the damage. The room was trashed. He was almost proud that it look worse than the last time Peril had gone on a rampage. “If you think I’m going to admit to this…” His voice died in his throat when he saw Illya.

There was an ugly bruise on his cheek from Napoleon’s fist. There was a gash on his neck that oozed blood slowly. Shards of glass clung to his clothes and hair, a few having cut into his face, leaving small cuts.

Shame drenched Napoleon. He sucked in a breath, feeling as if he was going to throw up.

Illya seemed unconcerned with his damaged state. He smiled lopsidedly and said, “Ah, but you did not destroy all of my bugs. And I’ve upgraded so they record. I have a solid defence.”

Napoleon wasn’t listening, however. “Illya,” he said, stepping into him. He lifted a shaking hand. “I…” His throat tightened in distressed, the reality of all his sins from the day closing in on him. 

“Don’t.” Illya caught his hand and kissed it before holding it tightly. “There is no need.” At Napoleon’s look, Illya shrugged. “If it had been me in your place, I would have done the same.” 

Napoleon shook his head.

“You know it’s true. This is nothing.” Still holding Napoleon’s hand, he lifted his own and ran it over the bruise. “Flesh wound.” 

“But still…”

“Turnabout, Cowboy, it fair play.” He stepped closer to Napoleon and brushed a soft kiss against his mouth. “You are not often so wrong, my friend, but when you are, you do a spectacular job. You’re a true artist.” His kissed Napoleon again, long and lingering before stepping back. “But, now it’s time to clean up mess. So.” He pulled out his gun and checked it. “Let’s get our girl back.”


End file.
